


I want to be yours

by Sunwarmed_Ash_tree_and_the_dreaming_Stag



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sex, Smut, episode based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunwarmed_Ash_tree_and_the_dreaming_Stag/pseuds/Sunwarmed_Ash_tree_and_the_dreaming_Stag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bottom line, I don’t ship Huddy. So this is basically 3 episodes rewritten to match the Chase/House pairing. Starts right after “Baggage” where Wilson asks House to move out for Sam and House quits therapy. Goes through “Help me” and “Now what?” All House/Cuddy scenes have been replaced and rewritten as Chase/House scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will likely be adding another chapter after these, will have sex in it so be patient =]

AN: Mostly House's pov but does switch.

* * *

 

 

House didn't go home that night. It didn't really feel like home anymore. Not with Sam living there. It was too crowded, despite the large square footage. He felt like an intruder in his own place and he fucking hated it. More than anything, he hated Sam. He just _knew_ she was going to hurt Wilson again. And despite his best efforts to end them, they stuck together. Probably to piss him off more than an actual desire to be together. Either way, he couldn't stay another night in that place. Which is why he was here. At a bar. Alone. At 4 in the afternoon. The event struck a painful chord of déjà vu. This was the _second_ time his jealously had brought him here in the middle of the day. Except last time it nearly ended their friendship and resulted in the death of a doctor.  He severely hoped history didn’t repeat himself.

Why couldn't he just be happy for his friend? It probably had something to do with the fact that he didn't see Wilson as just a 'friend' anymore. He hadn't for years, but it wasn't like he could just up and tell him. Wilson would laugh in his face!

7:00 rolled around and House was pleasantly drunk. Well, more like obnoxiously drunk. He had passed out in his hands a couple of times... He was so drunk he didn't even notice the bartender swapping out his vodka for water the last few rounds.

Nine o clock came and he was finally sober enough to drive. Where to, he didn't know. Maybe he could go back to the office, he had another stash of liquor there, and there were plenty of cots to sleep on. As the familiar roar of horsepower rumbled between his legs, he got an idea. He knew exactly where he could go. The home of a colleague; a particular Australian colleague who still felt the need to kiss his ass after 6 years.

-*-

Chase finished up the scotch he had been drinking and was standing to grab another when his doorbell rang.

_What the hell?_

The familiar clunk of a cane repeatedly hitting his door told him all he needed to know and he rolled his eyes. _House._ _What could he possibly want?_

 

"We must really suck if both our wives left us." He said when Chase opened the door. Chase only glared in response.

"House."

"I'd love to come in, thank you."  The older man pushed his way past Chase, almost falling over himself. That's when Chase smelled it.

"Have you been drinking?"

“So have you.” He accused, pointing to Chase’s near empty scotch bottle.

"Yeah, but I'm _home_ , not on the road endangering myself and others."

House scoffed and stole the bottle, settling in one of Chase’s expensive leather chairs and drinking straight from the bottle. "Save me the after school special Robert. I need a place to crash."

Chase raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He was too busy overanalyzing his bosses body language. He would be here without a reason after all. They weren’t friends by any means and the scowl House wore meant something was truly bothering him. "Did something happen with Wilson?" He asked, taking the seat next to him and stealing back the bottle.

"Nope." Was all he said and Chase knew that wasn't true.

"You showed up at my house, drunk and unexpected. I think I have the right to know why you are here."

House glared towards the floor, twirling his cane across the carpet. Chase waited paitently.

"Wilson is fucking the first Mrs. Wilson. Feels awkward being there. I can only listen to Wilson orgasm so many times. Man has its limits."

Chases face scrunched up in mild disgust. "Yes, thank you for that visual."

House continued to stare off into space and the room remained quiet for a while.

"So... It's cool if stay?" He asked, much softer this time. Almost as if he was bracing himself for the following rejection.

Chase saw how troubled he was and took pity on him. He was his boss after all. And an exhausted, pissed off, and hungover boss meant hell for him tomorrow.

"Yeah. I've only got the one bed, but- I think you should have it. I don't mind taking the couch."

House snorted and rolled his eyes. "It's _your_ house, Chase. I can't kick you out of your bed."

Chase smiled at that. “Actually its Cameron’s, can you imagine how she’d react if she knew you were sleeping in _her_ bed? Besides, it's fine. Without your Vicodin, sleeping on a couch with your leg would be hell in the morning.”

 

House gave him a small smile in response before nodding once in agreement. It made Chase’s heart skip a beat. He didn't think he'd ever seen the man smile, let alone smile at him. Chase was a little unnerved how the smile made him feel. There wasn’t a chance that House could feel the same way about him right? Maybe it was the alcohol effecting both their judgements.

When the awkwardness began to show, he cleared his throat to dispel it. "I'll uh, show you where it is."

-*-

Chase was up half the night trying to figure out what this weird feeling was. He knew his boss couldn't be attracted to him. Not only was he straight but, it was Chase. The man treated him like shit 99% of the time. This was the one and only time he’d seen a hint of something else . With a sigh, he rolled over on the couch and tried to will himself to sleep. It _had_ to be the alcohol talking.

-*-

House was gone before Chase got up that morning. The mirror in his bathroom still had fog on it so House took a shower. None of his clothes were missing so that meant he put back on what he wore to Chases. The bedroom was a mess but at least there wasn't any vomit anywhere. With a slow exhale, he pulled himself through the shower, wondering how awkward today was going to be.

-*-

To Chase’s surprise, House acted like nothing happened at work. Even in instances when they were alone and had the privacy to talk about it, House never brought it up. Chase would have been offended had it been anyone else. But this was _House_ , not Cameron. He wasn't a guy who openly talked about things, or even thanked people when they helped him out. Last night was an exception in many ways. He could tell something was bothering him though; it was obvious in his body language. He hoped he got a chance to ask him about it, but the opportunity never presented itself.

After work, he had another shower followed by a bachelor dinner and two fingers of whiskey. He was just settling into his chair to watch the Rugby game when his doorbell rang.

-*-

"Wilson officially  kicked me out." House slurred, leaning up against the frame of Chase’s door. "Need a place to crash again."

"Wait, what? Why! And what happened to your place?"

House pushed past him. "There's a manic Puerto Rican living there, got any more booze?"

Chase was in front of him in an instant _. Damn that kid moved fast_. "Hang on, you can't just come in here and expect me to open my home to you."

"Why not? You did yesterday."

"We're not even friends!" He sputtered.

House felt his gut sink at that one. Well, he'd just lost the last person who he could even _consider_ a friend in under 5 minutes. Had to be a new personal best.

"Alright." He turned to leave but Chase was in front of him again.

"Wait."

Now House was angry. "What? You said I'm not welcome, I'm leaving." He could hear the growl in his voice despite the haze. He didn't appreciate being jerked around, even by pretty boy wombats.

"House, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Just- come inside. Talk to me and you can stay okay? I promise."

"You're not my therapist." There was that growl again.

Chase sighed. "I know, I'm not. But- I think there's a reason you came to me first and not him. Just- please? I'll even drink with you."

House stared at Chase for a few minutes before nodding, limping over to the barstools in Chase’s kitchen and waiting for his drink. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward to "help me", Chase/House version

Since practically moving in with Chase, House decided it was time to bite the bullet and solve the "Cuddy" problem. It didn't bother him so much that Cuddy was dating Lucas, but more that Lucas went after her after he promised to back off. Whatever happened to bros before hoes? After talking to and then dumping his therapist, he decided to give the medical text to Cuddy as a housewarming gift. It would show her that he had moved on and that he was better, even if he really wasn't.

"Is this my-"

"Yup."

"But- how did you find it?"

"I've had it for a while. Figured it was time to give it to you. Open it."

The reaction she gave after opening the front cover was suspicious, he wasn't sure he liked it.

"Thank you." She said, before putting her hair in a ponytail. Now, we gotta get downtown."

-*-

House watched in horror and defeat as the woman he tried so desperately to save flat lined in front of him. A fat embolism. A fucking embolism. He cut off her leg after being trapped under a dirty pile of rubble, soot, and dirt for hours and _that's_ what killed her. He couldn't help feel responsible. Hell, he was responsible. He was _her_ doctor, and he _killed_ her.

By the time the ambulance doors opened at Princeton Plainsboro, she was already dead. The look Foreman gave him was a mix of both pity and deflation. He knew they were too late. And he knew what House was thinking.

House shoved past him and into the lobby. He needed to go home. He needed to do something, _anything_ to extinguish this bonfire of regret and guilt bubbling inside him.

"House-" _Great. Foreman had followed him._ "You can't blame yourself for her death. This wasn't your fault."

"THAT’S THE POINT!" House screamed, unable to control the boiling rage coursing through his veins. "I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT AND SHE DIED ANYWAY!! WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU THINK THAT WOULD MAKE ME FEEL ANY BETTER?"

He tried to storm off, but the pain in his leg flared as his anger grew. He had to grip the corner of the front desk just to keep from falling over.

"You shouldn't be alone right now..."

Oh House did _not_ have time for this.

"I'm going to give you a task, as an _employee._ " He started, pulling himself up from the desk and glaring in Foreman’s direction. He could be damn intimidating when he was this angry. "Get out of my way."

Hesitantly, Foreman moved, knowing there was no way to convince him otherwise. Last time he was this pissed he took a swing at Chase and Foreman seemed to remember that and backed off.

 _Good. Be afraid._ House thought as he hobbled the too long way to the parking lot.

-*-

The apartment was dark. He intended to keep it that way. He stumbled his way into his bathroom, flicking on the light before regretting it. His nose was sliced, his face was bruised, and he was bleeding profusely out of his shoulder. It wasn't but a moment later that the picture in the mirror morphed into Hanna, the oxygen mask on her face and the fading look in her eyes...

Adrenaline bursting through his veins, he tore the bathroom mirror off the wall, hurling it into the shower and watching it shatter into a million pieces. Two Vicodin bottles stood inside of a carved out hole in the drywall. He knew he shouldn't. He knew he was throwing away a drug free year. But he just couldn't find himself to care. He _needed_ this. Being numb mattered more than any "progress" he's made over the past 365 days.

Footsteps approached his bathroom and he knew without looking up who it was. Foreman must have told him.

"You gonna leap across the room and grab them out of my hand?" He asked, his voice stuffy and raw from concealing his agony.

"No."

Chase leaned against the doorway, stuffing his hands in his pocket to show he wasn't. "It's your choice if you want to go back on drugs."

_That wasn't the answer he was expecting._

"Okay. Just so you know, I'm finding it hard to see the downside."

Chase gave him a small smile. Even in excruciating pain House never lost his wit. Chase moved closer until he was sitting on the floor directly in front of his boss. "You need to re-bandage your shoulder." He said simply, leaning to help House out of his jacket. 

House shied away. "Is that why you’re here? Foreman sent you?"

Chase took the hint and leaned back, resting against the tub. "No. He did tell me what happened though. But I came here for you. Because the last two times you've gone through something you've come to me. I thought it was only fair to come to you this time."

House rolled the pills in his hand. His nerve to take them was starting to fade, and if he talked to Chase any longer, he'd throw them away. His brain was battling with the two conflicting options.

"Answer something for me." He said suddenly and House rolled his eyes.

"Yes, let's please make this about you."

Chase ignored the comment and pressed on. "Do you think, that you and I could work?"

 _That_ caught him off guard. He wasn't even sure how to respond.

"Because, I think there's more to why you've been staying at my house besides a falling out with Wilson."

House remained quiet, the pills were looking better and better.

Chase sighed and put his hand over House’s. "I like you. I have for a long time. Probably since I started working for you. And the only reason I got together with Cameron...was to make you jealous."

Houses eyes came up from the pills to gauge for any hint of dishonesty on Chases expression. He had none.

"I-I hoped that at my bachelor party, you'd say something, before I made the biggest mistake of my life. But you didn't, so I thought- I thought you didn't feel the same."

House sighed, clenching his fist around the pills before looking at the ceiling. "I'm broken, Chase. Do you really think I can fix myself?"

Chase tilted his head so he could look at him, those deep blue eyes boring into his soul.

"I think, I've loved you on and off the Vicodin. I think that I could provide you an alternative to drug use. But I also think, that if you need it, I won't stop you."

For some reason, that was all House needed to hear. It was a struggle, but he leaned forward despite the pain, putting himself in Chase’s space. He watched what appeared to be a flash of anxiety spread across the Aussies face and almost backed away. But Chase didn't allow him. Chase cradled his face in his hands, keeping their eyes locked for what felt like a lifetime.

"Let yourself be happy." He whispered, and House finally gave in, connecting their lips in a soft embrace.

The only sound audible in the room was of two Vicodin pills clattering on the bathroom tile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Help me" to "Now what" Chase/House version, mostly Chase's pov

After the incident in the bathroom, Chase helped House back into his bedroom. He was still bleeding, and Chase wanted to help him heal in every way.

"Here, hold still." He said softly, helping House out of the jacket this time. "Let me clean you up, please?"

House didn't seem to want help, but agreed anyway. Maybe they really were making process. Chase ran to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth and some gauze and tape. "This might sting a little, so just grip me okay?"

He slipped the last piece of clothing off House’s torso before he went to work. He tried to be delicate, but with how deep the wound was, and how new the stitches were, it was impossible. He knew House was in pain with how much his nails were digging into his back.

"Almost done I promise." He said, guilt flooding his system. He hated seeing House in pain. He bandaged up the now clean cut and tossed the soiled towel in the trash can.  He left to go grab more towels for the rest of House’s body. The man was still covered in dirt and debris.

He kept quiet as he worked, afraid anything he might say would shatter the moment. He could feel the intimacy growing between them, but he also knew better than to say so. House would just push him away if he got too emotional.

Once House’s face and chest were clean, Chase became more daring. He reached at Houses belt and began to unhook it. This would be it. The final test. If House let him do this, it would confirm his feelings even without saying it.

 

-*- 

 

House felt Chase began to pull on his jeans and knew what was coming. No. No, he wasn't ready. What if Chase balked at it? What if he suddenly decided House was too broken for him now? He couldn't handle the rejection.

He put his hand on Chase’s to stop him. "No. No, don't."

Chase just gave him a reassuring look. "Hey, it's okay." He whispered, locking their fingers together. "I love you."

House’s heart clenched in his chest. He desperately hoped Chase meant it. No one other than Wilson and Stacy had seen his leg. He liked it that way. To him, it was just a constant reminder how broken he was, inside and out.

Chase slowly settled to the floor, taking the dirt covered jeans with him. His leg lay exposed to the cold air. It wouldn't be long now until Chase left. He could feel it. Instead, he felt soft lips at his skin, particularly on the most damaged area. Chase had seen his leg and not balked, grunted, or cringed at the sight. He had actually _kissed_ the mangled thing.

"W-Why did you do that?"

Chase pulled back from the limb just to smile up at House. "I told you, I love you."

 

-*-

The next few hours went by in a blur. They had decided to go back to Chases house, the shower wasn't filled with glass there. There was also a severe lack of narcotics at his place too, and his bed was comfier. All in all the best place to be after House's near melt down.

"Come on, you should shower, you reek." Chase said playfully, pulling House into his large bathroom before stripping him again.

"Do not."

"You totally do." Chase laughed, pulling off his own shirt. "But that's what they invented showers for. Come on, I'll help you."

House rolled his eyes and pulled himself through the shower, unfortunately with Chases help. His home wasn't handicap friendly after all. "If you make a joke about dropping the soap..." House warned and Chase burst into laughter.

"I was expecting you to, to be honest." He mentioned, soaping up his hands with shampoo. "Want me to wash yours, or can you do it?"

House really wanted to, but he knew if he toed too far out, the trip wire would snap and everything would be ruined.

"I've got it." House grumped and Chase just smiled.

-*-

The shower was brief, purely to get clean of dirt and grime of the day. The bed was much more suitable for extracurricular activities. House was already sprawled on his bed, only a pair of boxers on. Chase slipped on a pair himself before joining House on the large mattress.

"Thank you." House said after a while, catching Chase off guard. Chase almost said 'for what,' but House answered his question before he could ask it. "For helping me back there. And- for what you said."

Chase smiled and propped himself on his arm, facing House. "I meant it. I just wish I would have told you sooner. Would have saved us a bunch of drama."

“Well you know me,” House shrugged, “I’m not very good with subtle.”

 

 

 

 

END


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